


Fleeting Thought

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [57]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 57: Butterfly.  Continues the San Francisco arc. Sam's discovery, and yet another lesson in how to keep one's temper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleeting Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.
> 
> No disrespect is intended towards the faith of Santeria, as a matter of fact, just the opposite - it's a very beautiful, complex culture.

Dean’s contemplating his next move as they lounge out in Mathieu’s garden. The garden walls are high, and he appreciates the knowledge that no one can look at the two of them out there, privacy isn’t something the boys have often, outside of motel rooms. Even at Jim’s and Bobby’s they feel a little exposed, when they’re outside. But here, Mathieu’s got protective symbols carved into the walls, and there are altars in some of the niches, with offerings to the orishas that protect Mathieu, his home, and his guests.

Sam is lying pointedly on his stomach, and shooting little glances over at Dean from time to time, probably trying to calculate the older boy’s mood. He’s wondering if Dean and John perhaps had a fight the other day, after stumbled downstairs from a longer nap than he preferred the older men had bullied him into eating, and he’d gone right to sleep again after. Slept through most of the next day, too, aside from Dean rousing him to eat and shower. All his coaxing to get Dean under the hot spray with him hadn’t worked, either, a sure sign that his brother had something on his mind. He wouldn’t mind taking a seat next to the older boy on the porch swing, but he’s not so sure that sitting would be so comfortable at the moment.

He’d spent part of the morning over Dean’s knee, after trying to stubbornly insist that he’d had enough rest and was ready to go back to training. Dean had taken the opportunity to remind Sam about all the promises about Sam taking care of his health. Forcibly. Fortunately it had been a private discussion, but with the look on Dean’s face, Sam’s not so sure that it would have been if they’d been downstairs with John and Mathieu. Dean hadn’t collared him, just snapped a plain, unadorned wrist cuff on him, told him to leave it so he had a reminder when it was needed. Gruffly, he admitted to himself that it was a good idea, because he’d forgotten about the promises he’d made in the desert, and was extremely glad the consequences hadn’t been worse. Not of course, that he’d be sitting down comfortably for the next day or so, but it could have been John spanking him, or god forbid both of them, since they seemed hell bent on Sam keeping his promise this time.

A butterfly lights on the hands Sam has folded in front of him, and he doesn’t dare breathe, watching it slowly open and close its wings in the warm sunlight. He hears Dean chuckle, a low comment about consorting with butterflies, something derogatory about his butterfly brain, and then it hits him. He nearly stiffens up, but doesn’t want to dislodge the delicate creature just yet. Butterflies have a homing instinct. So do birds. So do bats. So do waterfowl. Other insects as well. Everything that flies, has a primordial homing instinct. Jim’s always said that demons are, well, sort of primordial, older than man. Bobby claims that the damn things have such finely honed instincts, and have spent so long observing mankind, that they are able to take advantage when there’s a situation at hand. Good God. What if the connection with the demon is some sort of… some sort of homing device, for the demon to locate him, and others like him?

The butterfly kites upward, dips down to brush Sam’s eyebrow, and then flits over the garden wall. Sam stays there for a minute, then he’s dragging his tired self to his feet and heading inside, tossing a quick, come on to his brother. John’s just inside, cup of coffee and his journal before him, and Sam skids up and starts babbling. The sound of his excited voice draws Mathieu in from the library, and the santero stands, arms folded on his chest trying to smother a smirk as Sam babbles on.

The look on John’s face is plainly confused, and Sam trails off, looking at his dad curiously.

“Why don’t you try it from the beginning, Sammy, and a little slower for the senior citizens in the room.”

Sam blushes, and relates the idea the butterfly gave him more carefully, reinforcing the theory with logic and order. This time when he finishes, the other three men are silent, contemplating. John pulls out a chair for him, face still lost in thought, and Sam ignores it, will continue to ignore it unless he’s ordered to sit.

Of course, once Dean processes the information Sam’s just given them and realizes there’s not much he can do about the theory until John and Mathieu are done mulling it over, he taps Sam on the shoulder.

“Sit down.” The tone brooks no nonsense, and Sam eases gently into the chair, trying not to sigh when his ass lights on fire from the morning’s spanking.

John’s first to speak. “Sam, you might have something there. There’s a text I think might be able to corroborate it, I’ll have to give Jim a call.”

Mathieu nods. “There is. I can teach him how to protect against it – teach you and Dean how to make a certain kind of charm, maybe some gris-gris for the three of you and the car. John, find out how specific it is, though. Good job, Samuel.”

Sam frowns at the dismissive tone. “Well,” he demands, “Lets go then.”

One of Mathieu’s eyebrows levitates, surprisingly delicate on the burly man. “Where would we be going, Samuel?”

“To practice- you said you can teach-“

“And you are not rested enough to be able to focus properly.”

The first spark of frustration ignites in Sam’s chest, fueled by fear and anger. Do they not understand? He shoves back from the table.

“I’m fine,” he spits. “I’m not some kid you can order around, for chrissake, it’s something I need to learn to keep my family safe, and I’ll damn well do it if it’s the last thing I do!”

He’s just starting to register the unfriendly looks he’s surrounded by when Dean makes his decision. Sam feels the steel band of Dean’s strong hand circle his wrist, and then he’s stumbling towards his brother – when did Dean push his chair back from the table?

“What you’ll do, Sam, is show some respect – if not to Dad and Mathieu, then to yourself. Forgotten about our little chat this morning? Mathieu says you’re too tired, then you’re too tired, bud. Ah,” he says, pointing at Sam with his free hand. “You really wanna argue this?” Dean listens as a couple of choice words fall from his baby brother’s lips.

“No, Sam, you can’t just do it. You heard him. He’ll teach you, kiddo, but when you’re rested, so you can get it right.” He’s giving Sam a sympathetic look, and when the kid slumps a little with the realization that he’s not gonna get his way, Dean yanks him forward to stumble over his lap. It’s quick work to shuck Sam’s sweatpants and boxers, exposing the rear end that’s still pinkened from this morning’s discussion. “Meanwhile, let me introduce you to the last thing you’re gonna do today, before you go upstairs to bed.”

“I’m not five, Dean!” The words are shouted.

“Could’ve fooled me,” comes the reply, and Dean lays in with the spanking. He steels himself and carefully lets the anger and frustration he’s been feeling come to the forefront, channeling it into the spanking, making sure he doesn’t go easy on Sam. They talked about this earlier today, when Dean warned him that earning another spanking wasn’t advisable, and made sure that Sam understood that if, god forbid, there was a third spanking, he’d be in his collar not allowed to speak for the rest of the week, aside from lessons. Granted that’s only two days, but it’s hell on Sam, and he knows it.

Sam wiggles in agony as Dean’s hard, callused palm blazes down on his backside, and as he twists a little, he catches sight of John, still seated in his chair and watching calmly. Oh my God. Embarrassment floods through him, and he writhes, tears streaming from his eyes at the burn of the spanking he’s getting from his brother. Another twist seeking relief brings Mathieu into his field of vision, and the second rush of embarrassment is too much, and he goes limp over Dean’s lap, starting to cry from the flood of emotion. He’s too tired to fight it, and he’s got the idea that Dean might be right about the resting, but he’s never gonna admit it.

Another five minutes worth of spanking, and he’s trying not to howl as he spews promises of good behaviour and resting and anything else Dean wants. He might have said something about a week’s worth of blowjobs, because when Dean pulls him upright, Mathieu’s obviously smothering laughter, and John’s face is a little redder than usual. Whatever. He doesn’t care, and he clings to his brother, still sobbing when Dean pulls him into a hug. He’s not ready to let go a few minutes later when Dean gently separates the two of them.

“Sam. You get upstairs. Wash your face, and put your pajamas on, kiddo.”

“But Dean- it’s four o’clock-“

“You lookin’ for that third go-round?”

He shakes his head and scuttles out of the room, 6’4” of repentance and regret, trying not to look at John or Mathieu as he goes.

Dean looks a little belligerently at the two men. “Well?”

John grunts. “Better your hand than mine. Between the two of you, I’m surprised my shoulder hasn’t given out.” It’s his way of reminding Dean of who the commander of this little endeavor is, and Dean takes it easily.

“He’s gonna wear me out. I’ll be back down in ten minutes.”

“Take a bottle of Ensure with you. Been a while since lunch.” They’d settled on the awful nutritional drink as a way to get more calories into Sam, and it was turning into a way to bribe Sam to actually eat something, because Sam viewed the beverage as a punishment.

Dean opened the door to the bedroom to find Sam facedown on the bed, pajamas slightly askew from hurrying to don them. Silently, he hands the bottle over, shaking his head when Sam’s face draws up for a pleading question. He’s glad when the boy obeys, then he draws back the covers.

“You and your butterfly brain get some sleep, and while you’re at it, try and remember your promises, ok, Sammy?”

Sam nods, not trusting his voice, and much to his chagrin is asleep within moments.


End file.
